


lost, lost, lost

by signormythomagic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Panic, That's what, but here goes, ep 170 through Jon's eyes, i'm probably not the first to do this or think about it, so what do you do?, that feeling when you turn around and the love of your life is no longer there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24610675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signormythomagic/pseuds/signormythomagic
Summary: Must be the fog, Jon thinks. He can feel the dampness seeping through his clothes, and ignores the way his trouser legs chafe against his thighs as he continues to walk. It's difficult to tell which direction they're headed, though. Because it's just so hard to see. There must be a lightswitch somewhere. "Martin," Jon asks, "can you help me look for a light? I can't see a thing in here."But Martin does not reply.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 126





	lost, lost, lost

The fog swirls around Jon's legs, so thick it's nearly opaque as it covers the floor beneath his feet. And it's rising. It climbs and climbs, clinging to the walls, the ceiling, and Jon himself.

It's dark, here, wherever here is, and he doubts that he'd be able to see even without that dreadful mist looming about. He has brief thoughts of just reaching out to Know, but Martin is with him, close by, and Jon isn't sure if he can _Know_ about this place without _Knowing_ about Martin as well. Jon promised him he wouldn't do that, and refuses to breach his trust in such a way.

Still, as they walk futher down the corridor Jon begins to sweat; beads of moisture gather at the base of his neck, tickling as they slide down from his hairline and disappear beneath his shirt. Jon runs a finger along the inside of his collar, pulling it away from his skin to catch a bit of air flow, and oddly enough, it is not hot in this house. Must be the fog, Jon thinks. He can feel the dampness seeping through his clothes, and ignores the way his trousers chafe against his thighs as he continues to walk. It's difficult to tell which direction they're headed because it's just so hard to see. There must be a lightswitch somewhere.

"Martin," he asks, "can you help me look for a light? I can't see a _fucking_ thing in here." 

But Martin does not reply. 

_One._

_Two._

_Three_ heartbeats of no sound at all except for Jon's own breathing. "Martin?"

He spins around, expecting to see the other man walking a few paces behind him like always. But no one's there. "Martin!" Jon shouts, his voice echoing down the misty hall, and again: "Martin! Martin, where are you?!" 

Jon retraces his steps, feet falling heavy on the carpeted floor as he runs. There's so many doors, so many rooms, but none of them hold what he's so desperately searching for. And Jon still _cannot see_. His mind races, a hundred thousand thoughts at a hundred thousand kilometers per second, all swirling around in his head and vying for attention. Jon can feel the Watcher's pull on his subconcious, but he resists. Not yet. Martin is probably still on the first floor. Yes, that's it. No need to panic, just yet. He's probably just sat down there on the bottom step for a short break. Nothing bad has happened. All of those reassurances are dellusional, Jon knows.

Martin is in danger. No amount of lying to himself is going to change that. He takes the stairs three at a time, all the while calling out Martin's name and hoping to get a response. But it's no use. He is not greeted by anything but more fog once he reaches the bottom. It's as if Jon is the only person alive in the entire house, and yet, he's certain that can't be the case. A house such as this, too big and too dark and too empty, simply can not be just a house. Not under normal circumstances, and definitely not during the actual Apocalypse. Something wasn't right about it. 

_When did we get here? And how?_ Jon wonders.

And wonders, and wonders, and wonders, and wonders.

But no matter how hard he tries, Jon can't recall he and Martin actually walking inside the place, only that they had. 

There's another hallway downstairs. Another endless row of doors lining the walls, each of them bosting only emptiness and fog behind them. Jon flings each one open, falling further into his despair, eventually collapsing out of sheer panic. Vaguely, he recognizes, _rationalizes_ , the passage of time flowing by, but Jon is not sure how long he kneels on the floor, prostrate from the knowledge that Martin is well, and truly, lost. 

Lost.

Lost.

Lost.

_'It's your fault.'_

"I know," Jon answers himself miserably, his voice cracking and barely above a whisper. He tastes salt on his tongue and reaches for his face, only to discover that he's been crying. But Jon doesn't care. There's nothing he can do, now. No hope. 

' _Not quite_.' 

"No," Jon shakes his head, brokenly. "I can't."

' _Can't afford to lose_ him _either_. _Now do what you do best and_ Know _where Martin is.'_

"I promised I wouldn't."

_'Too late for promises, now. Seek him out. And if he hates you for it, that is only the consequence of your own actions. Face it.'_

"I suppose I deserve to." Jon sniffs, taking a shaky breath as he gets to his feet.

He reaches out, tentatively at first. Martin, Martin, Martin.

Jon searches, sensing nothing until suddenly it's there. Faint, but there. He pays no attention to his surroundings, blindly stumbling towards the presence. It's not unlike trying to capture the little black dots in his periphreal vision whenever he looks into a bright light for a bit too long. Sometimes it gets bigger, almost close enough for him to grab hold of. And then suddenly, it fades away, disappearing altogether in an instant.

But Jon is too determined to give up now. He chases after each new spark of life like it's the air he needs to breathe, using more and more assistance from his patron fear god as he goes. He wanders for what feels like hours, placing all of his focus on the faint glow of Martin's presence, drawn to it like a moth to flame.

When Jon hears the hiss of static down one particularly dark, gloomy corridor, he quickens his pace. He can feel his heartrate matching the rythm of his feet on the hardwood floor as he runs. "Martin!" He calls out, and again and again and again as the static gradually starts getting louder. "Martin, I'm coming! Martin!" 

And then, mercifully, very soft, barely there, Jon hears his name. 

"Martin? Martin!" He's sprinting full on, now, spurred on by the inscreasing clarity in the response he's given. 

"Jon? Jon, over here!"

"Oh!" He can hear the voice clearly, now, even more than before. "Martin, hold on. I'm coming... I just-"

Jon rounds a corner and suddenly there's Martin right in front of him. Jon doesn't even stop, just barrels into the bigger man at full speed, burying his face into the soft, cotton collar of his sweater. "Oh, thank god. I. I was-" Jon chokes out, sobbing as he's stammering. "I... I thought you were behind me." 

Martin lets out a stifled 'oh'. He reaches up then, wrapping sturdy arms around Jon's waist and pulling him closer. "I thought you'd left me behind. Gone on without me." 

"No, never." Jon says insistently. 'Ridiculous man!' He thinks, repeating, "N...Never. I just-" Reluctantly, Jon pulls himself out of their embrace, but he doesn't go far. Only enough so he can meet Martin's gaze. "I didn't want to Look... too hard. I-I-I promised I wouldn't Know you, and... and with the fog, and, and all the rooms I... i just- I lost you and I'm-" Jon pauses to catch his breath, inhaling deeply. He fixes Martin with an intence stare, needing him to realize just how much Jon means it when he says, "I'm sorry." 

"It's okay." 

"No, I-" Jon doesn't deserve to be let off so easily, he feels. "I tried to use the... to Know where you were, but it was- you. You were faint. It was so strange. It took me _so long_ to find you." 

Martin stops him from apologizing any further, pulling Jon back into his chest. "Jon, it's- okay. I promise, it's okay. This place tried...it-" He takes a deep, shaky breath, "It _really_ did. And honestly, I- I wanted to believe it.... But I didn't." 

What? "This... place? I.. it-" Jon is suddenly aware of just exactly what they had stumbled into. "My God."

"Yeah." 

"M-Martin," Jon licks his lips, hesitant to say what he's thinking. "If you- did. If you wanted to forget. All of it. Stay here and just- escape. I- I would understand." 

And he would. He really, really would. But that doesn't make waiting for a response any easier, hoping he won't have to deal with how much it would hurt to do so. 

"No," says Martin finally. "It's comforting here, leaving all those- painful memories behind. But it's not a good comfort. It's... it's the kind that makes you fade. Makes you dim and... distant." 

Relief floods through Jon immediately. "Okay," he whispers, then again, louder: "Okay, good. I-I wanted to make sure you knew what this place was." 

"It's the Lonely, Jon." Martin says like it's obvious. "It's me." 

Wrong. Completely, totally, unfathomably wrong. "No, not anymore." 

Jon is grateful when Martin agrees, even more so when Martin presses a gentle kiss to the crown of Jon's head. 


End file.
